


Break Down My Walls

by WrittenFire



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenFire/pseuds/WrittenFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a scarred past and a bruised heart, Alfred harbored very little hope of ever finding a better life, of breaking free. Somehow he manages to catch the eye of the new transfer student, Arthur, and slowly, with the help of his cousin, Matthew, the wall surrounding his heart is broken down and he finds the strength to hope again. Human!AU, eventual romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, and welcome to my FIRST EVER multi-chapter fic! :D
> 
> I do not know yet how long it will be, or all of the details of what will happen, so I hope you enjoy discovering with me~!
> 
> I dedicate this to littlev123, for she is the one that gave me the inspiration to finish this!  
> ( http://www.fanfiction.net/u/2559947/littlev123 ) She's an amazing writer, I would definitely suggest reading her works!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I in no way own Hetalia!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!

Alfred had not always hated Christmas. He used to love it, as a matter of fact. It was his favorite holiday, once upon a time. But ever since their breakup, he could not see it the same. They had ruined the one time of year where his naturally cheerful personality was accepted as the norm and not looked upon oddly.

His parents had always fought, for as long as he could remember. He supposed that they had been happy once, but even from his earliest remembrance they had been arguing. He had thought that that was normal for all households until he was first allowed to spend the night at his younger cousin Matthew's house. His parents had been so happy with one another, and the whole week he had spent with them he could not remember them raising their voices at each other once.

When Alfred finally went back home, the first thing he had heard was his parents arguing. After the week in a home that was so calm, so peaceful, it had startled him. He had felt like turning around and going back to Canada, to his calmer family, instantly. It was a want that only grew stronger the longer he was at home and as he grew.

It had been the year he turned twelve that it had happened. His parents arguing had progressively gotten worse, and his father had started hitting the bottle more than he ever had before. The whole month of December had been horrible; his dad was drunk more often than not and his mother was never home.

Alfred's dad was a mean drunk, and sometimes he lost his temper. The first time he had hit Alfred, Al had hoped that that would be the end of things. The look of horror in his father's eyes once he had realized that he had laid a hand on his son had been so intense that he felt that for sure that would be the end of it. His father had stopped drinking, and spent a few days doing everything Alfred had wanted.

They had gone to the movies, played laser tag, went shopping for the games he had been asking for all year. All of this had led Alfred to believe that he would lay off the booze and start acting like a father again. But his hope had been shattered when he woke to the loud sound of his father stumbling around the kitchen, his words slurring as he drunkenly sang a Christmas song.

He knew that he should not have expected anything different, but he still couldn't help the fact that hope had blossomed, or the way he felt so crushed when it was shattered. At the time Al had been glad that his mom wasn't home, for the first time the hit was to the face. It had left an unattractive bruise, and he knew that if his mom saw it, it would only cause another fight.

It didn't take long for him to wish the opposite. At the time he had wondered what was keeping his mom out at all hours, sometimes overnight or for days, but with her gone there was no fighting surrounding him so he had been kind of relieved that she wasn't there.

When she came home on Christmas Day, Alfred at first had been so happy. While he did not like when they fought, he did still enjoy when they were all together, as a family. Alfred never understood why that was, since they never felt like one, but it was still how he felt.

By that time his bruise was gone, and the new one his father had given him the week before was luckily in a spot that she couldn't see. He had run to her when she entered the door, crushing her with the force of his hug.

The first sign that something was wrong was that she had not hugged him back, but had instead maneuvered her way out of his grip and into the living room where his father was sitting watching a Christmas special.

Alfred did not like to remember what happened during the next twenty four hours.

It turned out that his mother had come with divorce papers for his dad. She already had her wedding band off and during the argument that followed it had made its way out of her pocket and straight to his dads face.

He didn't stay much longer than that; he ran up the stairs to his room and hid in his closet, his hands over his ears as he tried to block the sound of his parents shouting voices. He bit his lip as he tried to fight back the tears, failing miserably and only resulting in making his lip bleed as the sobs rattled his body.

He had heard, before he ran, his mother tell his father that she had been cheating on him for the past month. Alfred had ran before he could hear anything else.

The beating he received after his mom left turned out to be one of the worst he would ever receive, and would have landed him in the hospital if his father had carried it on just a little longer.

Alfred's mother never came back to the house; she hired a moving team to get all of her things while his father was out one day. Alfred had watched with a heavy heart, a wall slowly forming around it, a wall that would harden and stay unbreakable for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there was the prologue!
> 
> I hope that this was good enough to garner your attention and that you stick around for more!
> 
> Reviews are always amazing and would make me extremely happy!


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al sighed, shaking his head to cut himself off from his musings. Looking both ways before crossing the road, he couldn't help but think. _If someone really did try to get to know me…would I even let them?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with chapter one! (It is awesome to say that! xD)
> 
> Well the only thing I really have to warn about is that I cuss a few times (excuse my french!) and that this is, well, like most first chapters and is mostly doing intro type stuff. You do get to see Iggy, though! :D
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia, or the song! It rightly belongs to Radiohead!

"That's going to overlap," Alfred muttered, staring at the bruise with disinterest. It was starting to color already and, sure enough, once he took a better look at it the edge of it was going over the bruise his father had given to him weeks ago. He stared at it a moment more before sighing and bringing his shirt back down. Turning he picked his pants up off the floor, giving them a brief sniff before pulling them on.

He grabbed his backpack from the desk beside his bedroom door on his way out, throwing it over his shoulder as he made his way down the stairs. It didn't take him long; he skipped every other step as a way to wake himself up. Bounding down the last one and making sure to land on the balls of his feet as to not make a noise, he silently tiptoed his way to the front door, hoping beyond hope as he slipped his shoes on that his father would not wake up.

Alfred was barely able to suppress the shout of glee that wanted to escape when he made it out the door without making a sound; he had to settle instead for throwing one fist in the air before making his way down the drive, a breath of relief escaping when he made it out of the yard and across the street without his name being called.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans he slowly made his way to school, wishing, not for the first time, that he had an iPod to listen to. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy listening to nature—you know, the birds chirping and all that—but sometimes he just did not like to be alone with only his thoughts for company.

The silence of the morning gave his brain to much leeway to think about things that made him unhappy. _I'll just have to make my own music_ he thought, running through a list of songs in his mind. He finally settled on one that he had heard earlier that week, that had been sung in the locker rooms. He didn't think he was supposed to hear it, for most everyone had left by that time, but he had. It was sung softly; in what he thought was a British accent.

"When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye. You're just like an angel; your skin makes me cry. You float like a feather, in a beautiful world. I wish I was special, yo—" Alfred abruptly cut himself off, frowning over the beginning of the last verse.

Not to sound like an insecure girl, but…he really did want to be special. It would be nice if someone looked beyond the surface; beyond the supposedly 'happy' guy that he was. Al sighed, shaking his head to cut himself off from his musings. Looking both ways before crossing the road, he couldn't help but think. _If someone really did try to get to know me…would I even let them?_

 

* * *

 

 

"Jones, you're up!"

Hearing his name called Alfred looked up, catching the eye of his P.E. teacher. He stared blankly at him; he had no idea what he was 'up' for. He hadn't been paying attention for the first half of the period and so he didn't know what was going on. The teacher huffed, frowning at him before explaining.

"You need to climb the rope, Jones. At least try and make it halfway." he grumbled the last part, not aware that Alfred caught them as he walked by. Alfred couldn't blame him for making that comment; he knew that he deserved it. Due to the going-ons that happened at home he was usually too bruised up or sore to be able to do much of the physical exercise that this class demanded. He was just lucky he wasn't failing the class completely. His grade tended to reside around a low C or a high D, depending on how badly he was or was not feeling.

He had just resigned himself to the fact that he was probably going to embarrass himself in front of everyone when the bell rang, signaling the end of class. He looked towards the teacher, knowing that he was the last one who had to do it and hoping that he would come up with a way that he wouldn't have to do it the next day, which would delay the schedule.

The teacher sighed. "Can you come in after school and do it?" he asked, looking up from his clipboard to him.

"Yes sir." Al answered, relief rushing through his body.

"Alright. If the doors are locked just tell the office that Mr. Carter is waiting for you, alright?" he waited for an affirmative answer before continuing speaking. "Now get to class. I won't write you a note if you're late," he added.

Though he knew the older man wouldn't see it he nodded before running to the locker room and to his locker, glad that no one was in his isle as he hurriedly changed out of his uniform and back into his normal clothes. He winced when his body protested, the pain from the bruises almost slowing him down. But he knew that if he did he would be late for his next class, and while Mrs. Carter was nicer than her husband, it still wouldn't be good if he was late.

As soon as he was finished Al ran to his next class, the sound of his sneakers slapping across the ground echoing in the near empty hall. He was huffing by the time that he made it to the classroom, sliding in the just-open enough door and walking his way to his seat in the far corner. The bell rang as he sat, and Al did another fist pump, though this one was less enthusiastic as he didn't want to draw the attention of the teacher to him.

"Settle down, settle down." Mrs. Carter called from the front of the class, her back to the white board as she faced her students. "I'm sure that many of you will be happy to hear that we will no longer be reading Macbeth," cheers rang out through the classroom, and she waited patiently for them to be done before continuing. "So I would like you all to pass forward your packets before I tell you what your next assignment will be." She smiled at the groans that rang next, and Alfred briefly found himself wondering if she enjoyed making them miserable, before she caught his eye and he saw the exasperated amusement in hers.

He smiled back at her, and he saw it broaden before she turned away to answer a question that another student had asked. Al flipped his binder open—having gotten it out at the beginning of class—and flipped through it to the back until he got to the 'English' tab, fingering open the rings and getting the packet out. He closed the rings and his binder before giving the paper a once over, making sure that he didn't miss anything before passing it up to the person ahead of him.

Done, he leaned back in his seat to wait until the rest of the class was finished, absentmindedly tapping the end of his pencil on his desk. He did it for a while, not noticing the glares that his neighbor was giving him from the corner of their eye. Alfred had just started to get into a rhythm when a hand landed on top of his, effectively messing him up and making him jump.

He quickly looked up to the face of the owner, his already wide eyes only becoming wider when they met them. They were green, a deep green that instantly made him think of the forest. They were the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

"Would you stop that? Its bloody annoying." Al had to forcibly stop the shiver that threatened to run down his spin when he heard the other boy speak. Though it had been said with a bite to it, it had been said in a _British accent._ Like most people in the country, Alfred had a thing for foreign accents.

"Uh, s-sure man, no problem." Alfred stuttered, face coloring slightly. The other boy raised an eyebrow at that, drawing his attention to them. _Holy crap, they're huge!_ He thought, wanting nothing more than to reach a hand up and run a finger along one. Just as he was about to act on the impulse the other boy pulled away, drawing their hand back to themselves and refocusing their attention on the teacher.

Alfred couldn't help but stare a little while longer, his eyes glued to the others eyebrows. It was an odd thing to stare at, he knew, but he just couldn't help it. They were so eye drawing! Noticing the other start to turn his head he quickly looked away, barely avoiding getting hit in the face with the paper that was being passed to him.

Taking it he looked it over, looking at the title to see what they were reading next. "Hamlet," he read aloud, quietly, skimming through the packet to see how many questions it would have. One hundred. That's not so bad.

"For the rest of the period I want you all to be reading Hamlet. Now now, no whining. After this one I won't make you read anymore Shakespeare." Mrs. Carter promised, shaking her head at the cheers. "Read by yourself, and do so quietly. I'll be at my desk grading if anyone needs me." she made eye contact with a few students, making some blush at the attention before walking to her desk and sitting down, grabbing the first packet she saw.

Alfred reached under his desk and grabbed the literature book, setting it down on the packet and flipping through until he found the page. Bending his elbow on the desk he rested his chin in the palm of his hand and started to read.

By the time the bell rang he was done with the first act and on the fifth question. He quickly put all his stuff away and was one of the first out of the classroom, heading in the opposite direction as the rest of the students as he made his way to the gym in the back of the school. When he made it to the double doors the halls were empty. Hoping that his luck would continue to shine on him that day he pulled on the door, grinning when it opened.

"Mr. Carter?" he called, setting his bag down by the folded up bleachers, making his way back to the boy's locker room.

"I'm back here, Jones." He followed his teachers voice until he stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to his office, where he found him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

"Sir?" he asked, once it became apparent that his teacher was just going to frown at him.

"Alfred, you need to pass this or I'll have to fail you for the quarter." Mr. Carter finally announced, his serious tone matching his body language.

Al gulped. "A-alright sir." He knew that if his quarter grade came out unsavory his dad would have his head.

"Go get changed and meet me in the gym." He ordered, passing by Alfred on the stairs and leaving the room.

Al took the short way to his locker, his tongue sticking out the slightest bit as he concentrated on unlocking it. He changed slower than he had earlier, not wanting to hurt his body any more than he was already going to.

"Alright, now the goal is to reach the top, but I'll give you full credit if you at least get half way." His teacher informed him once he had made his way to him. He nodded his acknowledgement before glancing at the rope in front of him, his palms starting to sweat at the height of it.

Alfred wasn't scared of heights, but he knew that with his bruises he was not going to be able to make it all the way up there. Any other time, though, he had no doubt that he could make it to the top before anyone else. He had always had an uncanny amount of strength.

Wiping his hands on his gym shorts he took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the rope with both hands, looking up one more time before starting to climb. He was able to make it a little over half way before he moved in a wrong way and he upset a bruise, making him gasp at the sudden pain. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to make it much further he started the trek down, the process slower than going up had been.

His teacher was talking the instant his feet touched the mat. "Good job Jones; you get full credit. As long as you dress out for the rest of the week you'll be fine."

"Thank you, sir." Al said, shaking his hands to try and alleviate the pressure he could still feel.

"You're welcome. Now go home and do your homework." He said, nodding at him as he passed by.

Alfred left his teacher to do whatever he was, fast walking his way to the locker room and through the door to his locker. He changed at a normal pace this time knowing that it was going to hurt no matter the speed. Slamming his locker shut he frowned, the feeling that he was forgetting something causing him to feel uneasy.

It wasn't until he had crossed the street that he remembered. "Shit!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair as his eyes went wide. "The groceries!" he turned directions and ran to the bus stop, thanking his lucky star that his luck was still running strong as a bus had just arrived.

He paid the dollar and sat in the first empty seat he found, leg bouncing in nerves as he watched the stops fly by. Al reached a hand up and yanked hard when he saw his stop was coming up, running off with a 'thanks' as he worked his way to the front of the store.

Within half an hour he had paid for all that he needed and was waiting at the bus stop again, a dollar already out in his hands as he stood impatiently, looking down the street every two seconds for the bus. He grinned brightly when it finally showed, passing the dollar to the driver who looked at him oddly. Keeping his bags close he silently sent a thanks to the man who sat across him, for he got off at the same spot and so was able to pull the cord.

Alfred's heart pounded harder the closer he got to home, his lip raw from the way he was chewing on it in nerves. He was going to be in trouble. It was hours after school let out and he had not told his dad beforehand that he was going to be late. His heart pounding a mile a minute Alfred walked up the walkway to his front door, his hand shaking as he reached for the doorknob.

As if in slow motion he watched as it was yanked open, the heavy sounds of his dad breathing mixed with the loud sound of someone swearing off of the TV hitting his ears in an instant. Dropping his hand he slowly looked up, and he could swear his heart stopped for a moment in fear at the fury that he saw in his father's eyes.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope that you guys liked this chapter! The song is Creep by Radiohead, and if you have not heard it yet I highly recommend it!
> 
> Reviews would make me oh so very happy~


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those first couple of months after the divorce were the worst beating wise and he didn't want anyone to know what was going on so he had—and he admits it, if only to himself—gone out of his way to make sure that his friends were not close to him anymore.
> 
> A person could only stand so much pain and he had not wanted to give anyone else the chance to hurt him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here is chapter two! The beginning was hard to write, and I absolutely detest his dad. He's a horrible man.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia!

"Where the hell have you been?" his father growled, ignoring Alfred's yelp of surprise when he grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him inside, paying no attention to the groceries that spilled out of their bags and onto the walk way.

"I-I-I was getting the groceries like you told me to." Alfred stuttered, wincing when his father used him to slam their front door shut. His head hit the door with a rather loud _thunk,_ the last of the groceries falling to the floor as he brought his now empty hands up to grab onto his father's hands, trying to remove them from his collar before they moved up any further. _That would be noticeable, and definitely hard to explain._ He thought, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt his father's hands leave, only to gasp when he plowed one of them, curled into a fist, into his stomach.

"I told you to get them _after school,_ you dumbass, and it's already fucking _six._ What the hell took you so damn long?" his father growled, grabbing a fistful of Al's hair and lifting his head up, roughly, so that he could see his face. "And look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Alfred looked up at his father through fear filled eyes, his nervous swallow loud and noticeable in the quiet of the house. "I had to stay after school to climb a rope for gym class," he said, resisting the urge to lick his dry lips. "And then I had to go get the groceries and ride the bus and it—" Alfred gasped in pain, cutting his sentence short as he closed his eyes and tried to stop the tears that pooled in his eyes.

His father had not liked what he had to say apparently—big surprise there—and had cut him off in his preferred method; the older man had slammed his head back harshly against the door again, right on the area that he had hit before. The combined hits left Alfred more than a little dizzy and he knew that he was going to have a large, painful bump on the back of his head for days to come.

"The next time I tell you to do something, fucking _do it_ the way I told you and no other way, you got that? You stupid ass kid." His father let go of his head and stepped back; it took all of Al's will power to stop himself from sliding down the door into an aching pile of limbs. "Clean this up and make dinner." He added, looking around the floor at the mess once before stepping around him, the toe of his boot 'accidently' hitting his son on the shin as he passed.

Alfred flinched, waiting until his dad had made it to the living room and the sound of the TV had risen in volume before he let himself fall to his knees in front of the door, a single teardrop escaping and running down his face as he tried to steady his breathing. He let himself have a moment before he stood and opened his front door, gathering all of the groceries back up and carrying them to the kitchen, getting them all in a single trip.

He set about making dinner in silence, hoping not to do anything that would set his father off and make him feel even worse than he did at that exact moment. It was not long before he had two hot plates of food made, two glasses of chilled water waiting to be drank sitting on the table. Steeling himself for what he was about to do Alfred grabbed one of each item, leaving the bright comfort of the kitchen for the dark and suffocating aura of the living room, his father's domain. His father gave no sign that he came in and Alfred preferred it that way. The less interaction he had with the man the better.

Alfred set the plate down on the end table by his dad's favorite chair, putting the glass of water next to it in the hopes that he would drink it and that it would maybe sober him up some. Knowing his father, though, he doubted that it would be touched at all.

His prediction rang true when he cleaned up half an hour later. The plate he had left for him had been wiped clean, and the glass was sitting in the same spot as he had left it, obviously untouched. He inwardly sighed as he drained it down the sink, watching as the water slowly trickled down to nothing. Once he had finished cleaning the kitchen he flicked the slight switch and made his way up the stairs, grabbing his backpack along the way so that he could do his schoolwork.

The moment he shut his bedroom door behind him Alfred felt himself ease, his body slumping forward slightly in exhaustion, not having to hold himself so rigid any longer. Dropping his backpack down by his bed, right next to his desk that held all of his books, Alfred finally did what he had wanted to for hours and gently touched the bump on the back of his head, wincing at the tenderness of it. He let his hand fall as he sat, unzipping his backpack so that he could get his binder out.

He did not want to think about what had happened earlier just yet. He knew that once he started to he wouldn't be able to stop, and then he would end up so upset that he wouldn't be able to finish all of his schoolwork that he had to do by tomorrow. He ignored the pain in his head and stomach too; the dull hurt of his shin being pushed to the back of his mind as he opened his English book to continue with the packet that he had started earlier that day.

Alfred worked diligently through the night, finishing the first act and working halfway through the second before he started the vocabulary for Biology—that he had to take again because he failed the first semester the first time round. Once he finished that, he set to work on his Civics work, vaguely wondering how the British student at their school would react when they started talking about the revolution and things of that nature. The thought was quickly banished to the back of his mind when he stumbled on a question and was not remembered again.

It only took Alfred a couple of hours to get all of his homework done; he had breezed through the math without a problem. Out of all subjects, he had to say that that was his best. He did not love it, as he did English, but he liked having to focus his brain and use it to be able to work out problems. That was the best part of it, he supposed. The part where he was able to work them out and feel so accomplished afterwards. Despite the fact that it was the class he did best in, he never managed to get his grade up above a C. He suspected it had something to do with the fact that his teacher hated his guts, for whatever reason he had not been able to think of in the past three weeks that they had been at school.

Rolling his eyes at the direction his thoughts had gone Alfred finished putting up his schoolwork, placing his backpack on the desk as he usually did and grabbing his towels off the hooks on the back of the door and quietly making his way down the hall and to his bathroom.

The shower was long and difficult, Alfred trying not to upset any of his injuries and for the most part failing. He couldn't help but be relieved when he was done and dried, throwing his dirty clothes in the hamper before making his way back to his room. The instant the door closed behind him his towels were back on their separate hooks, his favorite pair of boxers on a second later. Alfred spent the next few minutes going through his nightly routine: going back and brushing his teeth, heading downstairs to make sure that his father hadn't killed himself before locking up, and then heading back up those stairs and into his bedroom where he shut off the light and walked the short distance to his bed in the dark, the years of living there helping him make the small voyage without injury.

Pulling back his blankets, he climbed into his bed with a sigh. Ignoring the throbbing of his head and the soreness of his body, Alfred fell into a listless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

_I want a hamburger so bad._

Lunch was in five minutes, and his school had an open campus. Alfred had been doing yard work for his neighbors since he was thirteen, to try to help bring in some money after the divorce, and he still had some money left over from the last job that he did. He was thinking, as he looked up at the clock, blocking out the noise of the other students, that he would use it to buy himself a lunch today. _I deserve it!_

He was in his free period, the class that they gave to every senior with the hopes that they would use it to do work instead of just waste an hour in a classroom. The students never really used it for that purpose, instead it was mostly used to talk to friends, go on an electronic, or sleep. As Al did not have an iPod, and he did not have any friends, really, to text, and had finished all of his work the night before, he had spent the period that day doodling on a piece of paper and listening to his fellow peers talk.

He knew almost everyone in the class, and had been in a class at one point or another since kindergarten. He had been friends with a few of them before the divorce; once school had started again after that winter break he had been changed, and the friends he had at the time slowly drifted away. He did not blame them for it; he had not been himself at all and had at times gone out of his way to avoid them. Those first couple of months after the divorce were the worst beating wise and he didn't want anyone to know what was going on so he had—and he admits it, if only to himself—gone out of his way to make sure that his friends were not close to him anymore.

A person could only stand so much pain and he had not wanted to give anyone else the chance to hurt him again. As he was finishing the loop on the border of his paper the bell rang, startling him out of his thoughts and drawing him back to the room where everyone else was already putting away their things.

Pushing the led back into his pencil, he closed his notebook and put them both in his backpack, not caring about where his pencil landed. Looking around as he stood he noticed that he was one of the only ones left; the only other in there besides him and the teacher was the British boy from his English class with the huge eyebrows.

Alfred looked at him a moment before leaving the classroom, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he winced at the loud noise of the corridor. He slowly made his way to the office, signing his name on the list that every student had to before leaving the campus at lunch, keeping his head down as he made his way to the nearest fast food restaurant, which just happened to be one of the many McDonald's.

He ate at the place a lot, so much so that the workers knew his order by heart and had quit asking him wanted he wanted long ago; now they just said his order to him to see if there was any change, and when he just nodded and handed over the money they would say a friendly hello instead of telling him how much it cost.

Al enjoyed that. There were not many people that he talked to and it was nice to see someone smile at him occasionally. Once he had paid for his meal and filled his drink he leaned back against the wall, looking around as he waited for his food. There were not a lot of people around that day, and of the ones that were very few were students.

When his gaze landed on a pair of familiar eyebrows he found himself almost calling him over and had had his arm raised halfway before he realized what he was doing. The two of them didn't even know each other, and he was trying to call him over? Alfred shook his head at his action and looked away, just in time for the girl at the counter to call him over.

He took his meal with a smile, thanking her as he left to go to his favorite spot. It was in the back, far corner, far away from the door and usually surrounded with empty tables. Today was no different and he could not help the relief he felt at that as he sat down, placing his tray down and leaning against the back of the booth with a small sigh. He had just started to eat his burger when a voice sounded from above him, startling him so badly that he chocked a bit on his food.

"You about gave that poor girl a heart attack, you know. I'm surprised she didn't faint, honestly." Alfred looked up to see the owner of the voice sit down across from him, placing their tray of food down with a slight clatter. "What did you do to her to cause such a reaction?" he asked as he unwrapped his own burger, taking a bite before meeting his eyes.

Alfred blinked when one of those eyebrows rose again at his silence, his gaze drawn once again. As he watched it lowered into a frown, and he figured he should probably quit staring and answer the question. "Um, what?"

The boy across from him rolled his eyes at his response, taking a sip of their drink before speaking again. "When the girl gave you your food. What did you do to make her look like that?"

Alfred thought back to the moment that he was talking about, trying to remember what he had done. "I smiled." Both brows went up at that.

"That's all you did?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"Well, I said thank you, too." Alfred defended, not sure what he was being defensive about. The Brit just made a noise in the back of his throat and went back to eating; not clarifying what he was talking about to the confused, curious teenager that he had chosen to sit with. Once it was clear that he was not going to be talking again Al went back to his own food, wondering why he had chosen to sit with him in the first place.

The only other time they had talked to each other was yesterday in class, and it had not even been much of a conversation. They finished their meal in silence, neither making eye contact or even acknowledging that the other was present. Alfred did not understand it but found that he liked having someone with him so stayed quiet about it, deciding that he would not say anything unless the other did.

The two ended up walking back to school together, not speaking a word the whole way there. They made it back in time to sign the paper again before the bell ring, and then walked together to their next period, that Alfred just remembered they had together. They separated at the door to the locker room, going their own ways to get ready for class.

Alfred spent the rest of the day wondering just what had happened. The British boy—who Alfred soon found out was named Arthur—did not speak to him during P.E., though they had ended up on the same volleyball team. He had met his eye when he heard his name called, and had stood by him in the formation.

Arthur had not waited for him to walk to their next period but had looked up at him and nodded when he had entered, nodding again in goodbye when the bell rang an hour later. The whole thing had left Alfred confused, and the incidents had plagued his thoughts all through his chores. He went to sleep that night utterly confused, the image of those eyebrows drawn into a frown the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed this! Thank you for reading and I hope that you review!


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred waited a moment before shrugging it off, using Arthur’s preoccupation to steal a look at his face, taking note of the red cheeks and the bright eyes. He wasn’t sure what _that_ was about, and though his curiosity was raging he chose not to try and force the answer out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I do NOT own Hetalia!

"You know, you really should start eating somewhere healthier." Hearing the British accent he looked up, staring straight into the eyes of Arthur Kirkland.

Ever since that day two weeks ago, Arthur had been randomly conversing with Alfred. He didn't get it, and each encounter just left him even more confused. It wasn't like they were best buddies now, but if they happened to pass by each other Arthur would make sure to say a 'hello'. In the four classes that they had together, they somehow sat next to each other—even in the free period, he chose to sit at the table with him—and sometimes he would strike up a conversation.

Al did not really know what to do with the situation. For now it was okay, but if it continued…what if they became close? He couldn't let that happen—he just couldn't risk it. Watching as he sat, setting his tray across from his, he promised himself that he would cut this...friendship, off before it got to that point. But for now, he was going to enjoy having someone talking to him as something other than a nasty thing on the bottom of their shoe.

"Did you hear me, Alfred? If you don't stop eating this…" here he trailed off, a look of disgust on his face as he looked at their food. "Greasy monstrosity, you will turn fat. And you will be so unhealthy." He added, his tone one you would expect to hear from a mother.

"It's cheap." He stated simply, purposely licking his lips in an almost lewd manner before taking a bite out of his 'greasy monstrosity', a small part of him delighting at the look of disgust on the Brit's face.

"Cheap or not, this food is unhealthy for you." Arthur said as he picked up his food and took a rather large bite.

"If you feel that way about it, then why do you continue to eat it?" Al asked curiously, a brow rising in confusion at the light blush that spread across the pale cheeks of the other boy. "Well?"

"That is none of your business." He replied after a moment, taking another large bite and refusing to look at him, ignoring the cute head tilt that he did and instead looking at the TV over his shoulder.

Alfred waited a moment before shrugging it off, using Arthur's preoccupation to steal a look at his face, taking note of the red cheeks and the bright eyes. He wasn't sure what _that_ was about, and though his curiosity was raging he chose not to try and force the answer out of him. Hopefully if the day ever came that their roles were reversed, he would give him the same consideration as he was showing him.

"Are you almost done?" Arthur asked minutes later, setting down his half-eaten burger and looking across the table at Alfred expectantly. "We really should be going soon if we want to make it back on time." he added after consulting his watch.

"Aren't you going to finish your food?" he motioned to his burger, picking up a couple of fries and dipping them into the ketchup he had off to the side.

"No, I could not stomach another bite." Arthur frowned down at the food, pushing the tray away from him. "We really should be going though, Alfred."

"Alright, let's go then." He quickly shoveled a few more fries into his mouth before standing, dumping the food that was on Arthur's on his and stacking the trays, paying no mind to Arthur's spluttering as he walked over to the trash can to dump it all. When he turned back around the Brit stood before him, thrusting his backpack into his hands before leading the way out.

Alfred made sure to wave goodbye to the cashier that he liked on the way out, wondering what he had done to make her blush so much. Shrugging it off he jogged to catch up to the other boy who had not waited for him and was already half way across the street, the two walking in silence the rest of the way to the school.

The two boys signed in the moment they arrived, either ignoring or in the case of Alfred just not noticing the look they received at having been out at lunch together yet again. It was the third time it had happened—not that Alfred was counting or anything—and each time it had randomly come to be that they ate lunch together.

Once they reached the locker room they went their separate ways, their lockers in different corners of the area. Al was able to change quickly that day; his father hadn't touched or acknowledged him since that day, something he was grateful for. He knew that this peace would not last though, it never did. It was like the calm before the storm—he would not be hit for weeks, sometimes a whole month, and then he would do something wrong that was so small an incident but would set him off.

Though it sounds weird to say he liked being in a constant state of bruises than he did these moments of calm. At least then he knew that it would be maybe a hit or two; when periods like _this_ happened there was no telling how bad it would be when his father finally snapped.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the depressing thoughts he slammed his locker shut, the loud noise causing him to blink, and made his way to his spot in roll. Once they had stretched to their teacher's content, while he stood in front of them taking roll on his ever present clipboard, he broke the news of what they would be doing for the next few weeks.

"Alright class, now that we have finally finished the rope climbing of our course we can move onto something fun. Ladies and gents," his smile was slightly alarming, causing the students to look at each other in fear. "We're playing _football!_ "

There was a collective groan from the girls, the noise meshing oddly with the shouts of glee from the male side of the class. Alfred was a mixture of both: he whooped in glee along with the other boys, but a frown glinted in his eyes.

Football was one of the dangerous sports for him to do. While yes, everyone gets slammed into during this sport and no one was left without a bruise—unless they didn't _play_ —there was only so much manhandling he could take without wincing or sounding out in pain. And that always attracted the attention of the teacher, who would then proceed to punish whoever it was that had hit his bruise wrongly and sent him to the nurse.

He never went, because they asked questions he didn't think he could answer. They always worried over the bruises and the way that sometimes he looks malnourished. There were times where his father would not go to work for a while and without an income coming in, they would become behind on their bills and were not able to do grocery shopping.

Whenever this happens Al tries harder to mow those lawns. He had tried once to acquire a job, and had actually managed to do so for all of a week once, but his dad would punish him for being out late. Al always made sure to tell his dad if he was going to be late, but there were times that he would forget, being so drunk that it was a wonder he could even form a coherent sentence, much less a sentence in general.

"To be fair we'll have girls against girls and guys against guys, and if all goes well we might even have a match at the end of this where we have boys against girls. Whether we do that or not, though, all depends on all of you." His eyes swept the crowd, taking in the array of emotions that played across their faces. Holding his board a bit away from him he proceeded to name of the teams, assigning each the color of jersey they would be wearing.

The rest of the lesson after that was spent sitting in a group with your team and going over the copy of the rules that were handed out to everyone. Everyone talked it over briefly before moving onto other things, forming weird shapes as they moved around their groups to be able to talk to their other friends.

Alfred spent the time quietly; his eyes unfocused as he let his thoughts drift to what could possibly be awaiting him at home, of what he still had to do around the house. As he thought about what to cook for dinner that night, he hoped that his luck would continue and he would wake up tomorrow with unblemished flesh. Closing his eyes to the blinding sun he sighed. Knowing fate, and his luck, he had just probably jinxed himself.

_What will tonight bring?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you all enjoyed this one! Two more chapters, and we'll be caught up with my ff.net account!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I really hope that you review!
> 
> Here's my tumblr! :) http://writtenfire.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignoring the pain, the way his body throbbed, he climbed into the tub, twisting the knobs until hot water sprayed on him from above, letting it wash the blood and filth off of him, the water tinged red. As he watched the water run down the drain, his vision blurred without his glasses, Alfred couldn’t help but envy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter! So, I didn't go too far into detail for what happens, but there is more child endangerment going on here. If beating or knives-or drugs-are a trigger for you, I want you to know now that they are in here. Okay?
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not in any way own Hetalia, I only own the OC's. Which, unfortunately, means I own a character I hate. Fun. *sarcasm*

_I knew it._ Alfred thought as he shakily got to his feet, staring blearily at the ground before him. _I fucking **knew** it._ Reaching a hand out to grab onto the counter, he gritted his teeth against the pain the action caused. He had had a bad feeling ever since P.E., a bad feeling that only intensified the moment he arrived home. This was why he wished it was a constant stream of beatings; because of _this._

Placing his other hand on the counter he finally stood straight—well, as straight as he could, anyways—and tried to think of where he had left the First Aid Kit. There had been no need to use it in so long that he had forgotten where he had placed it. Of course, the last time he _had_ been thinking through a drugged up haze… Alfred shivered as he remembered that night. 

It had happened last year; his father, for about a month or so, had gone through a drug phase. It didn’t last long, thank _God,_ but the time that he had been experimenting were some of the most frightening that Al could remember. As bad as it was to see his dad drunk, the combination of him drunk and high out of his mind is one that he didn’t think he would ever be able to get out of his mind—the man became paranoid and was more vicious, if that could be believed.

Thankfully it had happened during the summer, so no one saw the bruises. No one noticed just how thin he had become, or the bags that formed under his eyes from long, sleepless nights, nights that he couldn’t even entertain the thought of resting out of fear that _his father_ would lose it and he would be screwed.  
One night he had not been able to fight his exhaustion, and had fallen into a restless sleep. 

He had awoken to a nightmare come to life.

Shivering at the remembrance of a tainted needle being forced into arm, of some unknown substance being injected into his blood stream, the way he had been unable to fight the larger man off because he was just _so tired,_ the way his body had been weak, frail, ridden by fatigue. How he couldn’t fight him no matter how hard he tried—he quickly shook his head to rid himself of those memories, an action he regretted the moment he did when it sent a wave of pain throughout his head and caused his vision to go dark for a terrifying moment. 

Taking a deep, unsteady breath Alfred timidly stepped away from the counter, keeping one hand on it in an unbreakable grip and slowly made his way out of the kitchen and to his bathroom, the last place he could remember seeing the object he so desperately needed. The journey there was long, every step, every movement filled with pain. Alfred did his best to ignore the blood trail he was leaving behind—a blood trail that he would later have to clean up—and instead focus on placing one foot in front of the other.

When he finally made it to the room he stumbled into the space, unable to hold himself up any longer. Lucky for him the First Aid Kit was under the sink, a place that was easy for him to reach and so close to where he had fallen. 

Rolling slowly over onto his back he sat up, to retrieve the white box, paying no mind to the blood that he was staining it with and grabbing the supplies that he needed, setting it down to his side as he lifted his shirt to get to the gash. He cleaned it meticulously, each move precise, yet sluggish. The young man winced as he set needle to flesh, stitching himself up. It was a skill he had acquired many years ago; after watching so many documentaries on the subject he felt he knew how to do it pretty well. 

His father had been the one to start him watching them, the one who gave him something to practice on. He couldn’t count the amount of times his father had taken a knife to himself, or even to Alfred on the days he was so enraged that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a sharp weapon to his own son. 

After a visit to the hospital—one of the few times he was beat so bad that he had to go or else chance his life—his father had decided that he needed to learn to care for himself. The hospital asked to many incriminating questions, and though his father was the one who hurt him, who obviously felt nothing for this son, he had raged over the mere mention of him being taken away from him.

The raging did not happen in front of the social worker; his dad wasn’t stupid enough to do that, and they had put up a happy front for the sake of keeping him where he was. Alfred was fourteen at the time, and was so ashamed at the way he let his father beat him, so sad about the turn that his life had taken, that he couldn’t speak up for himself when he had the chance. Too soon after and the window of opportunity, that had opened and showed the sunshine that he could have if he only _reached for it,_ closed with a tone of finality. The one chance he would have and he blew it.

Finished with the last stitch he grabbed the pair of scissors, cutting that remaining sliver of string and sighing, doing the last touches before cleaning the other little cuts he had. As he set the kit back under the sink he couldn’t help but recall that moment in the kitchen, the moment when his father grabbed that knife and cut into him so deeply that he had to sew his skin back together. 

_Fingers clawed at flesh, trying desperately to remove the fingers that were wrapping themselves around a tan throat, feet kicking out and flailing in an attempt to hit hard enough to hurt. A gasp of air sounded, a raspy cough following straight after as those hands left, the owner of them moving away. There was no time to feel any sort of relief for a moment later the glint of a blade shined out of the corner of his eye, the orbs going wide with a fright he couldn’t hide as he stepped back, pleading with his dad to stop, to put the knife down._

_The only answer was a chuckle, the noise low and cracked, sending shivers to run down the young man’s spine. There was no escaping the inevitable; a split second later the sharp side of the blade cut through his shirt and into his skin, cutting deep and sending blood to burst forth, staining the shirt and pants as it dripped out of the open wound to splat onto the tile below._

_Crying out from the pain, from the disbelief that he knew he shouldn’t feel he kept his hand off the wound, knowing that if he pressed on it in his company it would result in even worse hurts. Slowly lifting his gaze, he looked up at his father, the blade dripping red liquid. The sight was terrifying; but the real fear he felt came from the look that he saw in the other’s eyes._

Shivering as he recalled the look, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. The look…his father’s eyes had looked crazed; like he had finally snapped. It wasn’t a look he had ever seen before and to be completely honest, it scared him more than the moment when he saw that knife in his hands. Picking up he scissors he had previously used he pulled his shirt away from his body and began to cut the fabric, up, up, up until he reached the collar. Alfred put more force into the cuts, snipping through with a relieved gust of air as he managed to do so without injuring himself. 

Setting the tool down on the counter, where it would stay until he was able to bring himself to putting it back in the now blood stained kit, he got to his knees, silently debating with himself on if he really could stand up tall or if he would have to _crawl_ to the shower. As much as it pained him to admit he knew that if he stood he would crash and burn, leaving the less dignified but safer option of crawling on his hands and knees to the tub.

Ignoring the pain, the way his body throbbed, he climbed into the tub, twisting the knobs until hot water sprayed on him from above, letting it wash the blood and filth off of him, the water tinged red. As he watched the water run down the drain, his vision blurred without his glasses, Alfred couldn’t help but envy it. 

The water was free, no one beat it, and no one hurt it. It could go wherever it went and be free. It _knew_ what would happen to it.

It knew.

Leaning against the tub, his head gently laying back until it touched to cool tiles, the temperature soothing, he could not help but envy the substance.

He never knew whether the next beating would be his last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. There you have it. This chapter...well, to be quite honest with you it basically wrote itself. i had not planned on some of the things that happened to happen, but...not that I like to see Alfred in pain, but I'm glad it came out that way.
> 
> And, just in case any are confused or anything about how violent he is, I have that figured out and planned already (yay for finally figuring out where this is going! ...well, more so than I did. This just added more stuff that's interesting, yeah?) and the events in here will be explained. I promise!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment? :)
> 
> Here's my Tumblr! I don't know how to make it a link, though, sorry about that!  
> http://writtenfire.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hello, Alfred.” his voice was soft, his lips tilted at the corner in the smallest smile Al had ever seen. And it was directed at _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my OC's.

**_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_ **

Rolling ever so slowly onto his side Alfred reached out and hit the snooze button on his alarm clock, stopping the ear grating noise. Just as slowly he rolled back, resuming his previous activity of staring at the ceiling. It had been a week since the… _incident_ , and Al finally felt like he could handle spending a full day at school. It had been a Friday when it happened, luckily, so he had spent the next two days recuperating and thanking the fact that when his father hit him each time after that night, it had been a one or two time deal, and not a beating.

He figured his dad must have known that if he tried anything more than a hit to the arm or a kick to the leg in his current state it would have most likely ended in a hospital break. There was no way to be sure, but it was the only explanation that he could come up with. He had made the decision to go to school on Monday, but had barely been able to make it through first period without feeling like he was going to be sick.

Not wanting to alert anyone—not that they would notice he felt bad, anyway—he had left early. His dad was working at the moment so he lucked out and didn’t have to deal with the possible consequences of going home early. Tuesday had passed much the same, with the exception that he thought to go to his other classes and request the work he had missed, and would be missing.

But today, today he would tough it out. If he went another day only going to his first period, he knew that his dad would hear about it and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. With that thought in mind he eased his way out of bed and went through his morning routine in a slow manner, his body still hurting and becoming very sore from the incident.

Once he was dressed he left, not bothering to stop in his kitchen along the way for breakfast. He wasn’t really hungry, hadn’t been too hungry for a few days now. That would soon become a problem, he knew, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. Maybe he would try and eat something at lunch, so that way he actually had something in his stomach and wouldn’t get sick on top of everything. With that thought in mind he refocused his mind, paying attention only to his feet as he walked into the school building. Alfred slowly made his way into his first period, the class passing by in a bit of a haze.

The next two classes in much the same way, Alfred focusing just enough that he was aware of what the teacher was saying, of what he was doing, but not of what was happening around him. It was because of this that he failed to notice the way his sudden presence in the Civics class that day had managed to draw the attention of the British boy, the furrow to the other's brows as he looked his tired form over. When the class ended Al made his way to the front, dropping off the work that he had picked up for the past few days, completed in his almost ineligible scrawl.

Answering the teachers concerns with a reply that he had just 'caught a flu, I'm all better now!' he smiled brightly at the woman in front of him before turning around, the smile falling from his face as he winced at the way the sudden spin had tugged at the stitches that still adorned his stomach. Placing his hand over them for just a moment before he opened the door he sighed, his face pinched as he walked to the library; it was where he hung out during brunch, and on those lunches that he didn't go to McDonald's or just leave the school for the hour and a half they were let free to eat.

He didn't have any friends, not really; the way he had acted when the beatings first happened made sure of that. The teenager hardly ever talked to anyone outside of class assignments—and as such, the sudden form appearing in front of him, the slightly worried and tiniest aggravated "Where have you been?" startling him so that he jumped, stumbling back into the person behind him. He made sure to apologize to them—though they had hardly noticed, gone before he was able to turn—before he turned to face the owner of the voice.

"Arthur?" he asked, confused, not knowing what he was doing in front of him. They never talked during break, only in class or those few times they had lunch together.

"Yes, you git, Arthur. That did not answer my question, though." Arthur huffed a sigh when Alfred's only response was to look blankly at him, not remembering what it was he had said. "Where have you been?" he asked again, arms crossing against his chest as he waited for a response.

"Umm...home?" Alfred said, his confusion contorting his face.

"Why? Are you sick?" At those words the American quickly nodded, latching onto the excuse, grateful not to have to come up with something himself.

"Yeah, I think I caught the flu or something." he replied, noting the way Arthur looked at him, as if checking to be sure that he really _had_ been sick. Alfred did not understand why he seemed concerned, why he had cornered him. They didn't talk that much, why would he care for him?

"Hmm. Yes, you certainly look like you have." His hand twitched as he talked, as if he had to stop himself from doing something. What move was it that he didn't want to do? Silence fell at his words, Alfred not sure what to say to him, how to handle the surprising situation he had found himself in. After a minute of standing there without interaction Arthur finally sighed, shifting his bag on his shoulder as he spoke again. "Have you been eating properly?"

Al blinked in surprise at the question. "Um...” he looked away from him, not wanting to answer the question. The thought of lying to him—not just agreeing with something he said, but properly lying to him—left an unsettling feeling in his stomach. Frowning in surprise at that, Alfred jumped at the sudden touch of Arthur's fingers poking his side, not having seen him move. He stiffened at the touch, something that had not gone unnoticed by the other teen for he quickly drew his hand away, eyes widened lightly in surprise at the reaction.

"Y-You're too thin," he stammered, a light blush to his cheeks. His prodding had fortunately managed to hit a non-bruised spot, something Alfred was grateful for. Holding his sides protectively, careful of the various scabs and bruises he had, he looked at him with a face he couldn’t describe himself; he didn’t know how to feel about all of this.

“I’m not,” he defended, knowing that he really was but not liking having it pointed out to him. “I’m fine.”

Arthur stared at him, obviously not agreeing with him but not saying anything else about it. With a sigh he adjusted his bag’s strap one last time, knowing the bell would ring any minute. “Are you going to McDonald’s for lunch today?”

“I guess?”

The Brit nodded, shuffling to the side when an eager student passed by them on his way to the classroom they still stood in front of. “I shall see you in fifth, then.” He said just as the bell rang, saying a goodbye before he passed Alfred himself, heading to whatever his next class was. Alfred watched him walk away, puzzled over the whole thing. Sighing the situation from his mind, he headed off to his next class—Pre-Cal with Mr. Braginski, the teacher who hated him.

He was in for a fun hour.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fifth period passed in an unhappy blur, Mr. Braginski on his ass more than usual. He didn’t know why he seemed to enjoy picking on him, but it never made for a fun period. Slinking out of the classroom, doing his damn hardest to stay under the radar, he made his way to fifth period, his mind stuck on the problems they had gone over in class. Al hadn’t understood half of them, and Mr. Braginski had seemed to find amusement in that.

Frowning as he recalled how the older man had called on him during class—always on the equations he did not know, as if _he_ somehow knew—and the light in his eyes when he discovered that he did not know the answer. The whole thing left him unsettled, and if he could just know what it is that had made the teacher dislike him so, he would fix it. The added tension did nothing to help him deal with his injuries.

With a shake of the head he put the last hour to the back of his mind, making his way to the empty table where he always sat, prepared to spend the next hour in blissful silence, utterly alone even though surrounded by peers.

An expectation that he found _thoroughly_ shattered at the sight of a now familiar blonde head bent over a rather large book, _in his seat._

Alfred could do no more than stand there for a moment in shock, his brain trying to adjust to the startling vision in front of him. Slowly continuing on his way to the back of the room he dropped his bag onto the table, ignoring the loud noise it made as it hit the surface as he sat down his curious gaze caught on the other teen who jumped, looking up at him with a frown.

“Hi?” he said when they continued to sit in silence, staring at each other, caught in some stare off that he did not understand. At his voice Arthur seemed to relax, further perplexing the young American.

“Hello, Alfred.” his voice was soft, his lips tilted at the corner in the smallest smile Al had ever seen. And it was directed at _him._ He found himself unable to do anything but stare; it had been so long since he had seen a smile that was actually directed at him, and not in a malicious way. It was unsettling but left this warmth that he did not know what to do with.

As he watched the small smile straightened out, his eyes catching the red tint to the others cheeks. Realizing that he had been staring—and caught –he looked away, the unfamiliar warmth to his face letting him know that Arthur was not the only one blushing. Instead of focusing on that he decided to turn his attention to his backpack, digging around for his Pre-Cal homework to try and finish that period.

Looking around for the accompanying book while he dug around for his pencil, he failed to notice that he was still the subject of someone’s attention, that someone was watching him more closely than he had been looked at in a long time. Grinning briefly when he finally located what he was looking for he gave up his pencil search in favor of obtaining the book, ignorant of how his smile lit up his face, even if just for that moment.

Once he had the book in hand, he flipped through the pages, only paying half attention to his surroundings as he walked back to his seat. It was for that reason that the pencil caught him by surprise; when he had left all that had been in his spot was his bag and the papers, and now there was a pencil, sitting innocently on-top of his homework. Looking to Arthur, for he was the only one that it could have been, he was surprised to see that he was looking away, his eyes once again trained onto his book.

Alfred stared for a few minutes, but once it became clear that Arthur was not going to be looking his way he turned back to his work, deciding to ignore the shock and instead be silently grateful. The rest of the period passed silently, each of the boys focused on their respective works. It went quickly, and soon they found themselves the only ones left in the classroom. Blinking Alfred looked up from his finished homework, slowly lifting out of his haze.

“Are you coming or not, Alfred?”

Hearing those words, Al turned in his seat to face Arthur, who now stood at his side. His things were packed, and his brow was quirked in expectance of an answer. Drawing his lower lip into his mouth, worrying at it lightly as he thought, Alfred tried to make sense of what was happening. Sure, it seemed like just a simple invitation to go lunch. But for Alfred…this was something more. He knew that Arthur did not understand that—nobody did, and he was not about to explain it to anyone—but for him, saying yes to this would change…everything. Did he really want to risk saying yes, to actually trying for a friendship with him, and possibly having his home life exposed?

“Yeah, just give me a second.” He answered, letting a small smile grace his lips. As he packed his bag, his back turned briefly to Arthur, he granted himself a moment to feel the sudden fear, the excitement that his answer gave him.

This would either be his greatest decision or his biggest mistake.

_Here goes nothing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are just whole sections of this chapter that I adore. I hope that you liked it, as well.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment? n_n
> 
> If you have a tumblr, you should follow me!  
> http://writtenfire.tumblr.com/
> 
> Anybody know how to make that into a link? I'd reward with a story if someone just told me how!


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did not have a reason to smile often, with his home life, but there was just something about hanging out with Arthur that made him _want_ to smile. It was strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm back with a new chapter! There will be a long PS in the end of the AN's that I REALLY hope that you guys read, because it is important! This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are entirely my own.
> 
> Thank you everyone for sticking with me, and I hope that you enjoy this new segment. :)
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia! Just my OC's. Who aren't even in this chapter besides mentions anyways.

Deciding to befriend Arthur was turning out to be one of the most interesting choices Alfred had made in a long while. It had been two weeks since that surprising lunch date, and since then he found himself sitting in study period with his new friend. They did not talk much, and for some reason there had been more than one occasion where he caught the other boy just…staring at him. Alfred never let on that he caught him, unsure of how he would react. Besides that, as long as that green gaze never caught on to the bruises or cuts, he would leave it be. No point in making a fuss over nothing when he had other things to worry about.

It was almost time to take his stitches out, and Alfred was only the slightest grateful for that. Thanks to him having them his dad had not been as tough as he could be, physically. He was still harsh when it came to his words; there was never a change in that. But he knew that he had required him to need stitches, and knew how long he should have them in for, so he had settled for kicks to the legs or tight grips to his forearms for the duration.

Alfred liked when he did those things better, when his torso and back were left free. Those hits always hurt the worst, and he had the toughest time dealing with them in everyday movement. Though they  _were_  easier to hide, he knew, compared to the bruises that were just barely hidden underneath his t-shirts.

That fact made him fond of fall, when the weather would start to take a turn to chilly and he could get away with wearing a long sleeve, or more likely, a jacket. His favorite one—that he only wore when he knew his dad was in a more favorable move—was his grandpa's old brown leather bomber jacket. It still fit a bit big on him, but he had been assured by his grandpa throughout his childhood that he would someday grow into it.

Grandpa had bought it will he was active in the army, and had passed it down to his dad once he had joined; Alfred shouldn't have inherited it yet, but when grandpa passed away, grandma said he should have it now. It was good that she had, for she had followed him only months later and he knew that his dad would have never given him it. The jacket and his dogtogs that they had made for him when he was born were all that he had left of them, and he took excellent care to make sure that his father never got his hands on them.

He didn't usually wear them outside of his shirt; when they were on his neck they were hidden, so that his father did not see them and as such did not know about them. The older man had forgotten about them by the time the beatings started, and so far he had been lucky about them going unnoticed. They were a calming, familiar weight on his chest, grounding him whenever he found his thoughts starting to drift to places he swore they would never go. He could not bear to have them taken from him.

Running a finger along the outline of them under his shirt, Alfred settled back into his seat, eyes focused on the white board as the teacher explained the latest problem to them. As he dutifully copied the instructions down he did his best to straighten out of his slump, knowing that his teacher would not hesitate to get him in trouble for his poor posture.

The period flew by fast, Alfred having no troubles with the lesson plan that day. The teen found himself eager for his next period, to seeing a friend, in the first time in what had been too long a time. Though he knew that they would no doubt spend the class in nothing but silence, he could not help but rush to the class the moment the bell rang.

It took him no time at all to find their table and sit in his spot, dropping his backpack onto the table before digging around for his Pre-Cal work to get a head start on his homework. He soon found himself drawn into his work, chewing lightly on his lower lip as he figured out the more difficult problems.

For the rest of the period he worked in silence, glancing up only briefly when Arthur arrived, sitting down across from him. Alfred shared a shy smile with the Brit, briefly noting the flush that adorned his cheeks. He didn't think about it for long, his mind sucked into his work still. The class session passed quicker than Al thought that it would, the bell startling him out of his concentration and back into reality.

He packed up quickly, looking up to see that Arthur had waited for him. It was still strange, having a friend who waited around for him and actually wanted to spend time with him. Despite the oddness of it, it felt nice; really nice, if he was being honest. It was the best feeling that he had felt in a long, long time.

"Are you eating at  _that_  place again, or did you pack a lunch today?" Arthur's distaste for McDonald's was only too plain, a fact that did nothing but amuse Alfred. No matter how he would turn his nose up at the idea of eating there, he would still go and have a meal with him if that was what he chose for the day.

"I brought a lunch today," he told him, smiling lightly at the way Arthur's face brightened just the slightest at knowing that he did not have to eat there that day.

"Good, then we're eating where  _I_  choose today." He said, leading the way out without giving Alfred a chance to reply. That did not bother him in the slightest; it was nice to just go along with the flow on occasion. So far his new friend had not had them join his group of friends at lunch, something that Alfred was grateful for.

He figured that he missed spending the lunch hour with them, but he never brought that up. If Arthur, for whatever reason, chose to spend those sixty minutes with him instead of his loud, interesting group of friends, who was Alfred to tell him no? That day it seemed that they were going to be sitting outside, under the shade of a tree that he seemed to favor. It was far away enough from the school that they could not hear their fellow students, but not so far away that they could not hear the bell.

They sat down in silence, sitting with their backs to the tree, their lunches separating them. Alfred was finding that he enjoyed having someone around, even if they hardly ever talked. The quiet was oddly comfortable, and so different from the daunting silence that he tended to face at home. Picking at his sandwich he wondered how long that this would last. Even Kiku, the quietest and least intrusive person at their school, had eventually asked questions.

Once he had saw how uncomfortable it made Alfred—so, immediately—Kiku had stopped questioning, but it had been too late. As much as he had enjoyed his company, the thought of him asking him things he could not answer had haunted Alfred, causing him to slowly withdraw from the only friendship he had tried to start in years. That was in the beginning of freshman year, and though almost four years had passed he still caught him, at times, staring at him as if trying to figure him out. It made him uncomfortable, and so he always made sure to find a way to get something between him and that intense gaze until he was no longer focused on him.

Deciding that lunch that day was a lost cause he set the half eaten sandwich aside, sighing as he looked up at sky. Placing his hand on his stomach he thought about what he would be making for dinner that night, and what chores needed to be done that day. Tapping his fingers he hummed under his breath, nose wrinkling when he realized that he would have to go grocery shopping soon.

With a slight huff he slowly straightened from his slouch, digging around in his backpack to find a blank piece of paper to write his grocery list down on. Fishing a pen out of his bag he pushed the top, tapping the pen against the paper a few times in a quick rhythm before starting to write down what he needed.

While he did he failed to notice the way Arthur was glancing at him from the corner of his eye curiously, seemingly unable to tear his gaze away. He slowly looked him over, wanting to know about him but not knowing how to go about that. It was no secret on campus that Alfred F. Jones was a very private person, prone to being quiet and alone. From what he was told when he first arrived on campus and asked questions he hadn't always been that way. It left one wondering what had happened to turn such a happy, outgoing kid into the introverted person that he was today.

"Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"Uh…never mind."

Frowning slightly Alfred looked up from his list, tilting his head to the side as he looked at Arthur in confusion. "What's up?"

Arthur shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "I didn't actually have anything to say." He admitted embarrassedly, blushing lightly under Alfred's curious gaze.

"Oh, well…alright." He shrugged, tapping him on the arm lightly with his pen. "Did you finish all your work for Mrs. Carter's class?" he asked.

"Of course; did you?"

"Yup." He said, popping the 'p'. "Wasn't too hard at all."

"Is English an easy subject for you?" Arthur asked curiously, seeing a chance to get to know him better and taking it.

"Yeah, it's my favorite subject. Math is pretty easy too, but my teacher really doesn't like me in that class. Dunno why." Folding his list up he stuck it in the front pocket of his backpack, tossing his pen in it as well before he zipped it shut.

"Who is that?" he asked unsure how someone could dislike him.

"Mr. Braginski. He's that really intense, creepy but strangely cheerful Russian teacher." Alfred remarked, wrinkling his nose briefly at the thought of the older man. He was a confusing personality and Alfred did not know what to do about it.

Arthur snorted, smirking at him. "That is an apt description."

Alfred grinned at him. "Thanks," he looked at his watch to check the time, sighing when he saw the time. "C'me on, the bells going to ring soon. We should probably start heading back."

Once the words left his mouth and they were starting to stand the bell rang, making Alfred bite his lip to hold back the grin that wanted to escape his lips. He did not have a reason to smile often, with his home life, but there was just something about hanging out with Arthur that made him  _want_  to smile. It was strange.

They slowly made their way to their next class, walking in a comfortable silence again. Their next class was P.E., with Mr. Carter, and it was not something that Al was really looking forward to. So far no one had noticed the stitches, but if Arthur started to decide to wait around for him after class…it wouldn't be long before he began to note how slow he could be when it came to changing.

Glancing at him from the corner of his eye, he wondered again on how long that this friendship would  _last_. Looking down before he could be caught staring, Alfred hoped…well, he hoped that Arthur would at the very least pretend to be ignorant if he  _did_  happen to notice.

Nothing ruined a friendship more than a friend prying for the truth.

Not a damned thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, the ending was a little hard for me. I knew I wanted the chapter to end, but could not get my words to flow correctly for some reason. Sorry about that. :/
> 
> I have a tumblr if you want to follow! http://writtenfire.tumblr.com/  
> Aaand now for that PS.
> 
> So, good news and bad news guys. The bad news: the Hetalia fandom is no longer snagging my attention. I still love the characters, don't get me wrong, but it has not inspired me in quite a while. But, there _is_ good news! While this may be true, I WILL be finishing this story, no matter what it takes! I've devised a schedule for it, so that way I hopefully write a certain amount of words a month, and update each month, or every two months. If all goes well, you should be getting regular updates! Wish me luck, yeah?
> 
> I hope that you guys stick around for more!
> 
> Please, leave a comment! I love to know what you guys think.


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